A small skiff drifted in the harbor
guided by the eazy oars of a fisherman
standing in the hull to better view
the shimmering reflection
of the orange circle hovering overhead-
dancing with the gentle waves
in the morning mist.

Monet had to name it something
so he called it what it was:

          "Impression, soleil levant."

A critic, wanting poison for his pen,
seized Monet's title to squeeze
a lethal dose into the radical veins
of the artist and his fellows of the gallery

          (Renoir, Pissarro, Cezanne).

With scathing indignation
he dubbed the lot of them,

           "Mere Impressionists."

The label endures (minus one word)
but how many recall or care to know
the righteous critic's name?

*November, 2011

Two billion years ago
the river we call Colorado
opened a **** in the Kaibab Plateau

sculpting sandstone, granite, and limestone spectra
on the rugged canyon walls -
reflecting the seering Arizona sun.

Millennial torrents scoured the surface.
Juniper and Aspen, torn from the expanding banks,
****** into the river's red-stained vortex.

All the while the restless Colorado,
obedient to gravity's law,
scoured its bed a mile below the rim.
The last dinosaur perished - choked by volcanic soot.

Pangaea rumbled, groaned and split
and an eye-blink ago our African parents
stood to take their first faltering steps.

Their progeny crossed the Bering bridge
roaming south to build stone shelters
tucked against these canyon walls.

Did the Havasupai huddle in fright
of the jagged firelight searing the skies -
pounding the air across the hollows?

And emerging at storm’s end
did they gaze at the rainbow mist
spread over the buttes and valleys?

After dusk, with fires withering to embers,
did they rest supine,
heads pillowed on their arms,
pondering the jewel case universe above?

*November, 2006

A bell tolled
through the fog at dusk
to summon passage
across the roiling waters.

Through the mist
a ferry appeared
but not the same as called -
afoul with death and sorrow.

With dread our forefathers
boarded ship and listened through
that storm filled crossing
to howling wind sung requiems
echoing from distant fields at
Manassus - Shiloh - Gettysburg.

When the gales had spent their fury
they disembarked in a new land
with both far less and more
than they left on the opposite shore.

*March, 2008

Take me to a miracle
I asked of "no one in particular."

Give me a philharmonic in the sky
And a blazing talking bush.

Let me see a ******’s ghost
and a lame man dance a jig.

I’d like to catch the show just once
before I flee this vale of fears!

Then no one in particular chided me
called me “vanity’s clown.”

Still, I tried to call him out
in the realm where words are born.

I thought that if I could crack the code of
how a vision breaks the void.

or how a proud and callous tongue
can raise a sanguine humor

or how a toddler breaks the silence
with his first astounding word,

then I'd topple “no one in particular”
from his lofty station!

But alas I failed to own the source
of a solitary thought or word

or what it means to care or conjure
or why I came to seek a miracle.

A hidden voice from nowhere in particular
gently slaked my feeble pride,

“Surrender to each dawn and dusk;
they're all the miracles you need.”

*December, 2007

For Betty and Clarrie

Betty was in paradise -
a soft smile on her angel face
eyes closed - gently swaying
with every note and word,

      “It’s very clear, our love is here to stay, ”

but why had she come today of all days
without her man to share the dance?

Then the usher parted the ballroom doors
and a humble and cheerful man slipped inside
barely noticing the familiar lyric,

      “Not for a year, but ever and a day...”

Clarrie searched the room and found her
as he knew he would
then crossed to offer his hand
in invitation to the dance.
His bride rose in acceptance
and they glided across the floor
while saxes crooned over bass and brushes –
her head resting gently on his shoulder
where it will always remain.

      “The Rockies may crumble, Gibralter may tumble,
      they’re only made of clay…”

The usher lingered for a moment
to celebrate their reunion
then slipped away in a cloud
to return to his station
at the gateway to forever.

August, 2010